


Arya Lily Potter

by JamieLK32



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Asexual Character, F/F, F/M, Genderbending, Girl Power, Other, Queer Friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 19:44:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6437782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamieLK32/pseuds/JamieLK32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius Black is brought to trial after six years of incarceration. With his name cleared and the nightmares of Azkaban haunting him, Sirius assumes the responsibility James and Lily had intrusted him with, - their only child, and the only link Sirius has to his oldest friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trial

Amelia Bones had been head of the department of Magical Law Enforcement for one short month. Crouch had lost the position five years previously, following the scandal involving his son, and his replacement had just lost his re-election campaign against her. In the last month she had been going over the files dating from just after the war, and she had come to the unfortunate conclusion that she had her work cut out for her. Her immediate predecessor had been responsible for the trial of the Malfoy family, which, as far as she could tell, was a badly covered up case of outright corruption. It was one the departments' worst kept secrets that the Malfoys had bought their way out of jail. She gained only slight comfort from the fact that they had paid dearly in galleons for their freedom. Lucius Malfoy at the very least deserved to be rotting in Azkaban, and his wife probably belonged in the next cell over, with her sister and cousin; A family reunion of sorts.

In her campaign for election, she had heavily criticized both Mr. Crouch and Mr. Smith for their lack of regard for regulations, in Mr. Crouches case, and suspected corruption in Mr. Smiths. Unfortunately she couldn't retry the Malfoys for the same crimes they'd already been on trial for, and many similar cases had the same problem. Amelia couldn't change the past; she'd just have to make sure she did a better job in the present. And if she was to have the chance to fix things within her department, she needed a way to satisfy the press. She had promised the public that she would do better than those that came before her. She needed something from the past to make an example of. She needed something that would draw attention, and prove her point to the media. She dearly wished she could put the Malfoys on trial, but it just wasn't an option.

She selected a fat file from her desktop, and sat quietly for a moment contemplating the likely consequences of her actions. She tapped the stack of papers on the hard oak of her desk, frowning in thought. If she went forward with her actions, it could be a wildly successful statement to the beginning of her term, or it could be the beginning of the end for her career. She gripped the file firmly and stood up, pushing back her chair, and heading resolutely toward the door.

Bringing Sirius Black to trial would show people that she was intent on following ministry's every regulation, that she wouldn't turn and look the other way. It was a politically motivated move, for she had no doubt of his guilt. Her statement would say that she followed the very letter of the law; the outcome would show that her justice was firm. It had been long enough since the end of the war that bringing up the past wouldn't be political suicide, but could instead be used as a tool for building the future.

As she called a meeting of her department leaders, she could never have guessed that the outcome of her plan could be so radically different than predicted.

***************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Two months later, Amelia was seated behind the center podium in courtroom ten, surrounded by the full Wizengamot. The stands designated for civilian spectators were full to bursting, and reporters for the Daily Prophet snapped photos with a feverish enthusiasm. It was a zoo, which she had more or less expected.

This was something she had to get through before her real work began, but it made her feel like a charlatan putting on a farce for the pure benefit of political advancement. She sighed, shifting uncomfortably on her high bench, and motioned to the Aurors at the doors. They nodded solemnly and swung the double doors wide, admitting two dementors holding an emaciated man between them.

Six years in prison had not been kind to Sirius Black. His hair was long and matted, his frame skeletal, his eyes haunted. She has seen the marks left by Azkaban on others, and he was no exception. Unlike others she has seen however, he did not hunch his shoulders, or look down at the ground as he walked. His steps were confident instead of faltering, and his eyes were searching the stands above him. He spared her barely a glance, his gaze lingering instead on Dumbledore to her right, and on the bench to the left, where witnesses for the prosecution were seated. She thought she heard Remus Lupin hiss slightly under his breath, and felt a stab of guilt for dragging up something this painful for the man. She remembered that he had been good friends with the Potters and Pettigrew.

The dementors deposited their charge in the manacled chair in the middle of the room. The chains glowed softly and wrapped themselves securely around their prisoner. The crowd broke out in murmurs, and then fell silent. It was time to begin.

"Sirius Orion Black, you have been brought before us today to stand trial for fourteen charges of homicide, and two counts of conspiring to commit homicide. How do you plead?"

"Not Guilty."

When Sirius spoke, it sounded more like a croak that an answer, but the words were still clearly discernable. She supposed six years in a solitary cell in Azkaban didn't give one much cause for speaking. Disuse and poor physical and mental conditions had turned his voice unrecognizable from his pre-Azkaban days. She raised an eyebrow at his response, but she hadn't really expected him to confess.

"Very well. The prosecution will present their case and witness testimony will be given. If you have anyone you wish to call to speak in your defense you may do so, any witnesses you call for the defense will be questioned by myself and Albus Dumbledore. Do you wish to have a public attorney, as is your right as a defendant?"

"I will speak in my own defense."

She was happy with that response; she would have pitied the poor bloke who would have been called in to speak in Blacks defense; mass murders weren't usually what public attorneys had to deal with.

The trial progressed with much of the same testimony that had been given to the court after the war being reiterated. Dumbledore gave testimony implicating him in the deaths of the Potters, law enforcement officers that had been present at the time of arrest gave their accounts of the carnage found in the muggle street. Eye witness reports from muggles not in attendance were read and presented. Pettigrew's mother even tottered up to the box to bemoan the loss of her son. Amelia thought she saw Blacks eye begin to twitch at this point. Remus Lupin gave testimony that Black had been spying on the Order of the Phoenix, passing on information for a year before the Potters death.

Blacks' hands curled and uncurled over the arms of the chair, his eye was definitely twitching, and his face looked like he was chewing a lemon peel. So it was a surprise, when it was his turn to speak, that his croaky voice came out sounding entirely rational.

"I request to be questioned with the use of Veritaserum. I willingly submit to being examined with Legilimency."

His words were met with dead silence, followed shortly by the buzz of murmurs breaking out around the stands of the circular room. Amelia blinked in astonishment. The use of Veritaserum during a trial was not unheard of, but as the defendant had to willingly submit to it (there was a clause in the Ministry's constitution that no witch or wizard could be compelled to give evidence of self-incrimination) it was rare.

Only those who were very sure of their own innocence volunteered to be dosed with the truth potion. The use of Legilimency was not banned outright, though some claimed that since it came from the mind of the accused, it was a form of self-incrimination. The paper work it took to get it approved for trial was often tedious however, and there had been enough damning evidence in this case that it had not been bothered with. Volunteers to undergo an examination of the mind were even more rare than those willing to be dosed with truth serum. It was an extremely intrusive procedure, and a skilled examiner could ferret out any memories that had been tampered with.

She was stunned. He had sounded so sane, but was it possible that he truly had lost his mind? She glanced at Dumbledore, and saw that he was leaning forward in his seat, his brow furrowed in a frown, one hand braced on his knee, the other rubbing thoughtfully at his mouth. It was the only point during the trial so far that he had given any kind of reaction. It told her that she was not the only one caught off guard; he was as surprised as she. Besides a vague notion that Black had gone barking mad, she didn't know what to make of it; by the look of Dumbledore however, he was busy thinking through a dozen theories. He caught her eye after a moment and inclined his head slightly; she nodded and stood up behind her podium, addressing the room once more.

"Very well." She said. "You will be questioned under Veritaserum, and Dumbledore will perform Legilimency afterward to confirm you words."

One of the Aurors' present scurried out of the room to fetch the potion required. Black nodded stiffly, and his gaze shifted again to Remus Lupin.

One of Amelia's main concerns when she has begun the proceedings to bring Black to trial had been the hell she knew she was going to be dragging the people Black had betrayed through. His cousin Andromeda was present with her husband; Amelia knew her daughter was still attending Hogwarts. Of Blacks old supposed friends, only Remus was alive to witness history being hauled up again.

A new feeling of uneasiness at the recent turn of events joined her original feelings of guilt for bringing an old wound into the light again. Immediately following her assumption that Black had gone mad in Azkaban, was a small, nagging, and persistent thought that something had been missed all those years ago. She was going over the file in her mind, and she just couldn't see how it was possible. However, this was a world of strange magic and seemingly impossible things and Black had never had his side of the story told. For the first time since he had been arrested, a tiny amount of doubt crept under her skin.

If there was one thing she knew to be true, it was that in a world of dragons, fairies, goblins, giants, and magic, you could never be sure what was going to happen next. If there was a second thing she could be certain of, it was that if Albus Dumbledore had a look of great concern on his face, and if his eyes were flashing fiercely over the top of his half-moon spectacles, any reasonable person should be breaking out into a cold sweat. She refused to dab at the drops forming on her brow, and kept her expression impervious; if this went to hell in a hurry, as she was half expecting it to, she was determined that her picture under the headline not look like a frightened NEWT student sitting his first examination.

The Auror returned, and made her way to the center of the room. The dementors withdrew a few feet, allowing the woman access to the chained chair Black was seated in. She unstopped the small glass vial and Black obligingly tilted his head back and opened his mouth. Almost as soon as the potion was swallowed, Black went limp, his head dropping down to his chest. When he looked up again his eyes were glossy and unfocused, staring straight ahead of him unseeingly. Dumbledore rose from his seat and made his way down to the floor, until he was right in front of him.

"What is your name?" He asked in a clear and ringing voice.

"Sirius Orion Black," Blacks voice was still a hoarse croak, but now he spoke in a monotone.

Amelia was familiar with the effects of Veritaserum, and he showed every sign of the trance-like state it put people under.

"At what point during the war did you begin to pass information on the Order of the Phoenix to Voldemort?"

"I never passed information on the Order to Voldemort."

Amelia felt her heart drop to her stomach, and in the dead silence of the court room, she thought she could hear it beating from where it had joined her lunch. Dumbledore was not going to allow any wiggle room for dodging the truth. He rephrased his question quickly.

"Did you at any point during the war, give information about members of the Order of the Phoenix to anyone you knew would inform Voldemort?"

"I never betrayed the Order. I was never a spy for Voldemort."

Amelia resisted the temptation to sink her head into her hands.

"When it was discovered that Voldemort was seeking Lily and James Potter, you were made their Secret Keeper for them and their child, were you not?"

"I was never Secret Keeper to Lily and James or their child."

Amelia allowed her composer to break just enough to close her eyes and let out a deep sigh.

Dumbledore spoke quietly when he continued. "Please explain, Sirius."

"I was willing to be their Secret Keeper when they first asked me. I would have died for them. But I knew I was the obvious choice; everyone was expecting it to be me, everyone knew how close I was to James and Lily. I came up with a new plan, I convinced James to go along with it. We would tell everyone that I was Secret Keeper, and I would go on the run, draw their fire and create a diversion from the real Keeper. I picked someone we trusted, someone no one else would guess we'd pick; Peter Pettigrew.

For a few weeks it seemed to be working, we hid Peter out of harm's way, and in a few months I had been attacked multiple times. I checked in on Peter whenever I could, tried to keep his spirits up, make sure he was safe. The night James and Lily died, I had gone to check on him. His hiding place was empty, but there were no signs of a struggle. I knew in my heart that something was wrong; I set out for Godric's Hollow immediately, and arrived to find their house in ruins, both of my friends' dead, and their baby, crying alone in a blown apart nursery. I was there with the child, trying to think clearly, trying to decide what to do, when Hagrid arrived. He told me Dumbledore wanted him to take the child to him, to Lily's sister, where the blood wards would provide protection. I agreed that the safety of the child was our first concern.

I gave my motorcycle to Hagrid so that he could travel faster, and in my rage I set out to find the man who had betrayed us. I tracked him to the town where his uncle had lived; I knew he'd inherited a house there. I found him in the middle of a public street full of muggles. I had been intending to kill him for his betrayal, but I hesitated to use magic in front of so many muggles. And he had been my friend. I was still hoping for some kind of explanation of what he had done, some way to make sense of it. I underestimated how far he was willing to go, how evil he had become, and I underestimated his magical ability as well.

He wanted me to find him in a public place, he shouted for the whole street to hear that I had betrayed Lily and James, and as I drew my wand to put an end to it, he blew up half the street. He must have had his wand behind his back, because before I could stop him, he had killed all those people in an explosion, and escaped into the hole he had opened into the sewers. I watched, stunned by the blast, as he chopped off his own finger, and transformed into his animagus form. Looking back on it, we should have guessed that any man who's form was a rat would turn out to be a turncoat. The Aurors arrived almost at once, and I was not in my right mind. I was exhausted, sleep deprived, and grieved beyond words could say. As they dragged me away to prison, my only thought was that it was my fault, all my fault… I never betrayed my friends; but I am the reason they're dead. It's my fault…"

His words trailed off at the end, leaving the room in silence once again. Amelia didn't think she could speak at the moment, her throat felt constricted, and her eyes stung. How could this be happening? She had been angry at her predecessors' deficiency in following regulations, but she had never doubted Blacks conviction. How very wrong she had been.

Dumbledore spoke again after a moment, his voice quiet and clear.

"How long has Peter been an Animagus?"

"Since fifth year of school. James, Peter and I all managed the transformation after two years of studying. Peter needed all the help we could give him, he barely managed it as it was. My form is a large black dog; James was a Stag, and Peter a rat. We used our ability to roam out of bounds at night, to explore the forests and Hogsmeade. We never reported our forms to the registry, to our minds that would have defeated the purpose."

"Do you know where Peter is now? Do you believe he is still alive?"

"Yes. But he would never risk being seen and found out. He would wait as a rat, not a human, until he thought there was a safe opportunity to return. If Voldemort ever reemerged and gained power, he would make his move. He has always sought the safety of those more talented than himself; he wouldn't dare make a move on his own. He changed sides during the war when he thought we were losing, and the very night he showed his true colors his lord was defeated. I wouldn't be surprised to find someone's pet rat had a toe missing from his right paw. I assumed that the truth would come out during my trail. I waited for years. When they came into my cell today, I thought I had finally given in to the dementors and gone insane."

Dumbledore bowed his head, and when he turned back toward her, Amelia was not surprised to find tears in his eyes. She felt a bit like crying herself.

He cleared his throat and said, "I think that will suffice, do you agree?"

"Of course."

She nodded to the Auror standing by with the antidote, and she moved forward to administer the dose. Black shuddered as it worked its way through his system, and when he opened his eyes again they were clear and focused once more.

"Dumbledore, if you would perform your Legilimency screening now, I would like to be done with this."

She was proud that she kept her voice steady. Dumbledore stooped over Black, and looked him directly in the eyes. They remained in that position for several minutes, until, with a deep sigh, Dumbledore stood straight once again and turned to face the seats lined with the Wizengamot.

"What he has told us is true. This man was never a traitor, never in league with Voldemort. There has been grave error within the Ministry that this has gone uncorrected for six long years. Madame Bones, I motion to clear the Subject of all charges."

"I second that motion."

She spoke now to the rows of witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, "those in favor of clearing the defendant of all charges?"

Every single hand rose high into the air, and the snap of the media's cameras was joined by the loud buzzing of the crowd, as the stands erupted in loud conversations. She could see Rita Skeeters' bottle blond head and acid green robes amongst them, and could hardly image what the headline of tomorrow's paper was going to be.

"Defendant is cleared of all charges!"

The chains on Blacks chair disappeared, though her pronouncement had been lost to most under the din of the crowd. The dementors retreated reluctantly through the double doors, and Black stood looking dazed and uncertain of what to do. As the crowd of reporters converged on him, two people got to him first; Remus Lupin and Dumbledore took either side of him and marched him quickly out of the room.

Amelia steeled herself and marched forward to meet the press of reporters who, after seeing that Black was out of their reach for the moment, had turned their attention to her instead. It occurred to her that though today had not turned out as she had predicted, she would be able to ride the wave of this scandal, and use it for the betterment of her department. The mistake had been made by those who had come before her, and she had righted it just a few short weeks after taking office. The fact that it had gone beyond what she could ever had planned for was irrelevant; her risk had been rewarded.


	2. Recovery and Waiting

Sirius Orion Black watched as every hand of the Wizengamot rose into the air, and heard the court erupt into deafening noise as if he were very far away, watching someone else’s life get turned upside down. He never heard the words that pronounced him a free man; they were lost in the din of the crowd. He knew they had been spoken however, because the chains pinning his arms to the metal chair glowed softly again, and released him with a soft clinking noise. He felt the Dementors withdraw from behind him, felt warmth return to his heart for the first time since his incarceration six years before. 

His legs felt weak underneath him as he stood, like his knees were going to fold out from under him. He knew his trembling was a combination of his shock at finally being a free man again, and his severely weakened physical condition. Malnourishment and lack of exercise, along with prolonged exposure to dementors had left him a shade of who he was before. It had been years since his muscles had begun to atrophy, and he knew without having to see for himself that he probably resembled a skeleton more than he did a man.

He knew, in the back of his mind that there were a great many things he needed to do, a great many things he needed to take care of; above everything else, there was one person he needed to take care of. Many of his mistakes had haunted him in prison, replaying in his mind in a never-ending loop. Of all of them, there was only one he had within his power to put right, to do the thing he should have done from the moment he landed his bike in Godric’s Hollow to find the cottage in ruins and the baby crying in the nursery; he needed to take care of his best friends daughter, as he had promised to do so many years before. 

The noise and the flashing cameras were overwhelming after years of solitary penitence in Azkaban, he need somewhere quite to recover and think, and he needed the help of his old friends. Thankfully, Remus and Dumbledore reached him before the horde of enthusiastic reporters. They didn’t attempt to speak above the noise of the crowd, they simply grabbed him from either side and steered him from the room. 

They made surprisingly good time on the way to the floo grates for an old man, an emaciated ex-prisoner, and a werewolf. 

“Remus, may we use your place? It is better suited than my office.” Dumbledore’s voice was steady as he led the way to an open grate filled with bright green flames. 

“Of course. Sirius, you know the place, my parent’s old cottage.” 

Sirius glanced back the way they had come, where a woman in acid green robes and bleached blond hair was hightailing it after them, her camera man bobbing eagerly in her wake. 

“Better go now old friend, if she gets her manicured claws in you, she’ll never let go.” 

Sirius cast a startled look back at her, and noting the slightly manic look in her eyes, promptly leapt for the grate and croaked “Cottage of Remus Lupin”, as clearly as he could. 

He had never been a fan of traveling via floo powder, and six years of imprisonment hadn’t improved his opinion of it. Taking a sickly, malnourished man and spinning him like a top through half of magical Britain’s fire places was never a terribly good idea. He managed to get his arms out in front of him quick enough to stop his face from meeting the old fashioned carpeting, and scrambled away from the grate just in time to avoid being stepped on by Remus. 

Dumbledore followed in quick succession, gliding out of the fire place as if he were a good 40 years younger than he actually was, and graceful to boot. Remus stooped and helped haul Sirius to his feet, where they stood facing each other in an extremely tight silence. 

It was Remus who broke it, his voice almost as hoarse as Sirius’s. “Can you ever forgive me, Sirius? I should never have doubted you...” His voice broke at the end and Sirius could see the tears in his friend’s eyes.

“It’s I who should be begging your forgiveness, Remus. If I had trusted you as I should have, if I had but told you the truth, none of this would have happened. I’ll forgive your suspicion, if you will forgive mine.” 

Remus closed the space between them in one stride, and embraced him like the brothers they were, in all but blood. Sirius could see Dumbledore over Remus’s shoulder, carefully inspecting a muggle-style wall hanging as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. However one felt about Albus Dumbledore, no one could fault his tact. He and Remus broke apart grinning ruefully and wiping rather teary eyes. Sirius felt like his heart might burst, being able to reconcile with Remus was one of the many things Sirius had long since given up hope of ever happening. 

He heard Dumbledore clear his throat before he spoke, his voice soft, “I hope you will forgive me as well, Sirius. It would have been within my power to bring you before the Wizengamot after your arrest, had I had more faith in you. I will understand if you cannot find it within your heart to pardon my mistakes, but I wish to tell you how sorry I am all the same.” 

It felt wrong somehow, so see so great a wizard beg his forgiveness. Dumbledore was the strongest and wisest person he knew, and he didn’t think twice before striding over to Dumbledore and embracing him as well. He felt surprisingly frail; it was so easy to forget how old he truly was because he had the demeanor of a much younger man. He could feel the man’s shock at the contact, before he relaxed and patted Sirius on the back in a comforting manner.   
Sirius supposed that having a reputation for being the most powerful wizard of the century didn’t lead to very many hugs. 

He stepped back but kept a light grip on Dumbledore’s upper arms, “I’ve made too many mistakes to ever hold yours against you. I should never have held back from you in the first place. But you know everything now.”

Remus had walked over to the old couch that rested beneath the broad window at the front of the cottage. He sat down heavily and placed a tired hand over his face. “Yes,” he agreed, “you know now.”

Dumbledore gently broke Sirius’s hold and walked over to perch on the couch next to Remus. He put a comforting hand on Remus’s shoulder. “I do not hold your adolescent misbehavior against you Remus. Your lot in life has never been an easy one, and you would have been hard pressed to stop them anyway. I think we can all agree that we have all made a series of grave errors in our past. I for one think that forgiveness is due all around, don’t you agree?” 

Remus removed his hand from over his eyes and gave Dumbledore a rather disparaging look before grinning ruefully and shaking his head. “You mean let go of my guilt and self-loathing instead of dragging it around with me everywhere I go? Yes, I suppose forgiveness does sound better than that.” 

Dumbledore smiled, and Sirius surprised himself by barking a laugh, it was a foreign sound to him now, it had been over six years since he’d had occasion for mirth. 

“We have a lot to discuss,” Dumbledore said, looking up at Sirius. “But I think Remus and I can both agree that you getting a shower is at the top of our priority list.” Remus almost sprang to his feet he moved so fast. 

“I’ll grab you a towel and find you some robes that should fit alright. You should go get cleaned up, the washroom is at the end of the hall, the door on your right.” 

It had been a long time since Sirius had given any consideration to how bad he must smell. He had long since ceased to notice the grime and the stench of prison, but he supposed that along with being a dreary sight to behold, he probably smelled like the wrong end of a skrewt. He nodded, and almost moaned at the thought of hot running water and flushing toilets. 

When he entered the room a few moments later, gingerly holding a towel and a stack of clean robes away from his grimy body, he started in surprise at his reflection in the cabinet mirror. He looked less like a skeleton and more like a cross between a scarecrow and a not   
terribly fresh corpse. 

He blinked at himself owlishly for a moment, then quickly swung the cabinet door open and located the item he’d been hoping to find; a pair of scissors. He was forced to look at his reflection again as he hacked at his hopelessly snarled and matted hair. He cut it very short, knowing he could get Remus to help him regrow it later. He and James had singed their hair off enough times in school that Remus had gotten very good at the charm. He carelessly tossed the hacked off lengths into the bin before stripping of his soiled stripped prison robes, and wadding those into the bin as well. 

He adjusted the tap as hot as he could stand, and stepped under the streaming water with a sigh of relief. He braced himself against the side of the shower stall; standing under the rushing water and watching the filth of the last six years of his life go down the drain. It was enough to make the water discolored, and he grabbed the bar of soap and scrub brush and vigorously scrubbed away at his skin. By the time he stepped out of the stall, he was pink from the heat and scrubbing at his skin so hard. It was a welcome change from sickly pale and dirty, however. The robes Remus had provided were the right height, though they draped off of his thin frame. He had forgotten the feel of clean cloth against his skin; he had never really thought to miss the simple things, for they had been lost among the larger regrets and overwhelming grief. Now that he had the presence of mind to appreciate them, they were a great comfort. 

When he returned to the combined sitting room and kitchen, it was to find that Dumbledore had left while he was away. Remus was standing over the stove, and the smells drifting from the pans he was directing with his wand were causing serious danger of making him drool on the floor. 

“Bloody Hell, that smells like heaven.” 

Remus turned around and raised an eyebrow at him, “Nothing like a few years of near starvation to improve your opinion of my cooking, I see.” 

Sirius barked another laugh; he didn’t remember that Remus had been much of a cook before, but he seemed to have become more self-sufficient in that regard. He gestured to the table and said, “A package came by owl for you, I didn’t open it. Dumbledore had some business at the school to take care of, said he’ll be back later though.” 

Sirius nodded and headed over to the table with a last glance of longing at the stove. He was distracted by the long thin package on the table, and tore off the paper eagerly, guessing what was inside. He was right, it was his wand. He gripped the handle firmly and felt warmth and familiarity surge up his arm. Most wands of criminals who received life sentences were snapped after the trial and sentencing but as he had never had an official trial; his wand had remained in the archives at the ministry.

There was a letter as well; he slit the seal of the heavy envelope with the tip of his wand, and read quickly. It was from the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones. She wanted to set up a meeting with him after he’d had some time to recover, to take an official statement regarding Peter Pettigrew. She also informed him that there was to be an official inquiry into the matter of his lack of trial, and suggested that he consider whether he wished to press charges. She was refreshingly frank in suggesting that the ministry would be willing to settle a large sum of money in compensation for his suffering if he wished to pursue a suit. She also included a pardon for his illegal Animagus status, though he would have to register at the ministry within the month. She concluded by wishing him well, and with hoping that he would contact her within the next week to work out the details of his new status as a free citizen. 

He set the letter down and sat at the table, idly drawing his wand between his fingers. She had made no mention of the custody of Arya Potter, but he suspected that he would have to take that matter up with Dumbledore. The old man would never have let control of her protection slip from his grasp; it was too important. He was diverted from his thoughts when Remus slid a dish of steaming food in from of him. 

“Try to eat it slowly or you’ll just make yourself sick.” He waved his wand, and a glass of water and half a bar of chocolate floated onto the table. “If you keep this down, you can have more later; getting you healthy again is going to take some time. In fact, a trip to St. Mungos wouldn’t be a bad idea either.” 

Sirius grunted his agreement through the large forkful of food he had just shoveled into his mouth, and Remus rolled his eyes at him in an almost painfully familiar way. Sirius tried to slow himself, but it was barely a few minutes later that he was scraping crumbs and gravy from the bottom of his plate. He gulped some of the water and crammed a large bite of chocolate into his mouth. One of the best methods of shaking off the effects of a dementor was the consumption of chocolate, and though he felt it warm him slightly, he figured he’d have to be fed a steady diet of Honey Dukes finest chocolates for a couple of years before he felt completely better. He suggested this to Remus, who agreed with him, on the condition that it be funded out of Sirius' account instead of his. 

“Do I still have an account? I’d have figured they’d have cleared that out after they chucked me in prison.” 

“I’m sure they’d have liked to, but the goblins have their own policies for those situations. As far as I know, your account was frozen and would have been held that way until your death. If there was no one named on your will, the Ministry may have been able to seize it then.” He hesitated before continuing.   
“Are you aware that the Black family vault is now yours as well?”

Sirius rocked back in his chair, stunned. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more; that his mother had died, or that he’d been the one to inherit. “The old hag finally bit the dust then?”

Remus gave him a look for his choice of words, but nodded his head anyway. Sirius didn’t grieve for her. He had very few fond memories of his family, and none of them had involved his mother. The Black family was old, prestigious, and liked to think of themselves as traditional. He had often told them that they weren’t as traditional as they liked to pretend, otherwise it would have been his father who was the abusive parent. After every such remark, his mother would oblige him by proving his point. Even though he didn’t feel grief for her, he did feel strange about it; he’d run away and been disowned at the age of sixteen, but it was still shocking to be told that the woman who had brought him into the world was dead. It was also somewhat of a relief. His parents had been the source of much of his misery in his pre-prison days, and now both of them were gone. Why the hell had he inherited? He had figured that the Black family vault would transfer to his cousin, and thus to the Malfoy family. 

And then he remembered the Black family rules of inheritance, and almost started laughing; the last male heir of the Black family would inherit automatically in the occurrence that no other heirs remained. The Black family procedures of inheritance were very traditional in that regard and the magically binding clause took no notice of his name being blasted off the family tree, either.

He was now technically the head of the Black family, even though there was no one left other than him. Then he groaned. “Nooo, I’ve inherited the house!”

Remus looked slightly baffled by his dismay, “Sirius, I know you have bad memories of that house, but still; a house is a house. I think most people would be thrilled.” 

“I hate that place, Remus. And it may very well hate me right back. It’s been in the family so long, the entire place is infested with magic. And I wouldn’t be surprised if it remembers me as well. I wouldn’t go back there to live if there was a nice gutter as an alternative. With my luck I suppose the old elf outlived her as well.”

Remus shook his head at him in mild disbelief, but all he said was, “Stay here instead then. It won’t take much to fix the old spare bedroom up for you. There’s not a lot of space, but neither of us has many possessions, and I’d be happy to have you for however long you want; be it just until your back on your feet, or if you want to move in.” 

“I’ll take you up on that. Not sure if I’ll stay too long, but at least for a few months. Just found out I’m filthy rich though, so I’ll insist on paying rent.” 

“I can’t say no to that. Werewolf prejudice hasn’t improved since you’ve been away, and some of its gotten worse. The registries open to potential employers, so I’m not going to pretend my financial situation has been ideal.” 

Sirius grunted in derision, shaking his head. They sat for a while, discussing the events of the last six years, Remus doing most of the talking. It felt both strange and very normal to each of them, sitting together chatting casually. It felt as if it had been mere days since the last time they had met, though they talked of the years Sirius had missed. Remus talked of the end of the war, of the current government positions, and of the new Wolfsbane potion that had been discovered in the last year. It was terribly expensive and complicated to brew, but its effects were extraordinary. There had been hope that the Ministry would aid in making it available, but a strong anti-werewolf movement from within was blocking progress; some witch name Dolores Umbridge was apparently behind it. 

Sirius was dismayed by the number of known Death Eaters who had bought their way out of prison; an injustice he felt even more keenly then the rest due to his own wrongful imprisonment.

It was rather late in the evening, and Sirius had eaten a few more servings of food, before Dumbledore returned to the cottage. Sirius was glad to see him, he’d been avoiding talking about the one thing he most wanted to know about, because he knew that Dumbledore would be the best informed on the subject. Dumbledore accepted a cup of tea with a gracious nod of thanks to Remus, and joined them at the kitchen table, placing a stack of papers in front of him. 

“I’ve gotten your statements from Gringotts for you, the paperwork naming you the Black family heir, and all the documents for your vaults and the house at Grimauld Place. I also took the liberty of scheduling you an appointment at St. Mungos hospital for tomorrow morning at 11am; I hope you are not offended. We cannot act quickly enough where your heath is concerned.” 

Sirius shook his head, impatient to discuss another matter. “Not at all, we had discussed that as well. And thank you for bringing the paperwork as well, that will save me some trouble at the bank. I want to discuss something else, however. No one has mentioned Arya; I assume she is still with her muggle aunt?”

“Where the blood wards have kept her safe, yes.” He pulled a sheet from the pile and studied it for a moment before handing it to Sirius. It was a copy of James and Lily’s will; they had left everything to their daughter, and they had left her to Sirius. Custody was explicitly stated that he was to be given full guardianship upon the event of they’re death.

Sirius had known this, he had agreed to it when they had named him godfather, but it took his breath away to see it. 

Dumbledore sighed, and continued, “They’re will is clear enough, and now that you have been cleared of all charges, your claim will not be disputed by the law. But I must advise you to think about this carefully, Sirius. The blood wards with her aunt and uncle give her a great deal of security, and moreover, I cannot recommend removing a young child from her family. She will not have been told of her fame in the Wizarding world, and her upbringing has been with muggles. Removing her from the only family she has known, to a world she has never seen could be very traumatic.” 

When Sirius spoke again, he did so slowly; thinking through his emotions and his options as he went. “I know James and Lily could never have anticipated this situation, but I know they didn’t want her to go to her sister; they didn’t get on well with each other. But I can’t imagine they’d want her torn away from a happy family either. I’m not going to swoop in and separate her from a family that loves her just because I legally am able to. If... If she’s happy and cared for where she is, then they can retain custody; but I want visiting rights. She needs to hear about her parents, and Petunia never knew James, she barely maintained contact with her sister either.” 

He paused and looked up at Dumbledore, “If she’s being mistreated on the other hand, I won’t hesitate to take her. I know the Wards are strong protection, but we have means protecting her as well. We could put a Fidilius charm around our home, and do it right this time, make you the Secret Keeper, Albus. The wards don’t protect her when she’s away from her home either, it wouldn’t be that different.”

Dumbledore actually looked proud of him as he nodded he assent. “You have thought this through, I see. I can make no other logical argument. Who will decide if her treatment there is acceptable?” 

“All three of us together, I think. We knew James and Lily best, after all.”

“Very well. I suggest we give you time to recover and settle back into the world first, however. Your appearance, I hope you won’t mind me saying, is rather startling, though vastly improved from earlier today. A better haircut, some square meals, and a treatment from St. Mungos should make a drastic difference.” 

Sirius chuckled and ran a hand ruefully through his hacked off hair. “Fair enough Albus, I’d hate to scare the poor girl. How about next Saturday? We can pay the Dursleys’ a surprise visit and see where things stand.” 

They both agreed, and the discussion moved on to less charged subjects as the night wore on, and Remus was eventually prevailed upon to break out an old bottle of wine and a tray of slightly stale chocolate biscuits. 

************************************************************

Miles away in the heart of London, Amelia bones sat down at her desk with deep sigh of relief. 

Her day since the end of the trial had been a blur of meetings, press releases, and damage control. Her department had swarmed like an overturned beehive, and she had been at the center of it all. Their current Minister, Cornelius Fudge, was unfortunately a career politician who was entirely incompetent during a crisis. Thus the bulk of the burden fell to her shoulders. She was proud to say that she was at least better up for the challenge than the Minister was, but she was still feeling the strain. 

She had barely settled into her chair when her door opened once again, and though she had been expecting her visitor, she couldn’t help but feel resigned to the meeting.

“Madam Pettigrew, thank you for meeting with me, please have a seat.” 

The old woman moved forward slowly, walking with a cane with short, shaky steps before sinking into the chair placed before her desk. Her face was lined with age, and she showed the stress of the day in her downcast eyes, and the way she clutched her hands in her lap.

Amelia felt her heart wrench for her; in many cases, Voldemort’s supporters had learned their hatred of muggleborns from the bigoted teachings of their families. In this case however, Madame Pettigrew was herself a daughter of a muggleborn father and a half-blood witch, who had married a pure blood man, Steward Pettigrew. She had not raised her son to hate those without pure blood, had not raised him with the ideals of pure blood society. Peter Pettigrew had not supported Voldemort because he believed in his ideals; he had simply been a coward who believed himself to be on the losing side. It made this harder on his mother, and harder on Amelia, who didn’t have the luxury of hating this woman; she could only pity her.

“Madame Pettigrew, I have to ask you; have you had any contact with your son in the last six years?” 

Madame Pettigrew looked up at her, and then shook her head no. Then she began to cry. Amelia sighed and looked down at her desk, at the list of questions that had been prepared, and resigned herself to a gut-wrenching evening. 

“Do you have any idea as to the whereabouts of your son?” 

Madame Pettigrew only continued to cry, and shake her head in denial.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is going to be loooong, and is already in existence on other websites. If there is a good response here, I'll update the finished chapter quickly. I'm testing the waters, so to speak.


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